


Epomis

by Winddrag0n



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ghost Will Graham, Ghost Winston, Hannibal Is Obsessed, M/M, Origin Myths, ghost story, honestly though can you blame him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: “Do you remember anything?” Hannibal asked, setting the glass aside. “About your death.”Will thought for a moment. “I remember… a forest. I was chasing something, or being chased. I’m not sure which.”“A human or an animal?”“I don’t know.”“And what came next?” Hannibal leaned forward, listening."I see... nothing.”---Hannibal picks up a hitchhiker, but everything spins wildly out of his control.





	Epomis

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is linear but disjointed. It was very difficult to write and I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about it.

Hannibal could spot them easily now. Hitchhikers were common in this area, but you still had to know what to look for before you picked someone up. A large, beat up pack was always a good sign, an indication that someone was a serial roamer who wouldn’t be immediately missed. Ragged clothing and a tired demeanor hinted at someone who was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. You needed to know what traits disqualified someone as well, if you didn’t want to get caught. Groups were an immediate pass, as were people with animals, although Hannibal would be lying if he just didn’t want pet hair on the interior of his car. It wasn’t his Bentley, that would have been profoundly stupid, but he abhorred any sort of mess. Anyone who twitched oddly or seemed overly energetic could be on drugs or a junkie, which was too unpredictable to handle. It was more complex than a series of traits you could check off a list, but the basics were always where you wanted to start.

The man he was approaching now fit the bill. Not too young, possibly mid thirties, with a beat-up flannel and several days worth of stubble sitting on his face. Pale, with large bags under his eyes that became apparent when Hannibal pulled over. He was holding his side as if he was injured. “Do you need a ride?” Hannibal asked politely, after rolling down the passenger window.

The stranger nodded. “Wolf Trap,” was all he said.

Wolf Trap was about a half hour drive away, and there was plenty of forest in between. “If you do not mind making a stop on the way, I can take you.”

“Thanks.” It seemed the stranger wasn’t much for conversation, which was fine with Hannibal. He made a beeline to the back door, opening it and sliding into the back like he had done this many times before. Hannibal rolled up the window and pulled away.

The man was still clutching his side. “Are you injured?” It didn’t matter, but it was the normal thing to ask.

“Broken rib, maybe. Nothing serious.” The man offered no more information, and Hannibal did not press him. He had no bag or jacket with him, which was unusual, but not unprecedented. People escaped from dangerous situations all the time.

“Do you have an address, or would you rather direct me as we get closer?”

“I’ll direct you,” came the instant reply. Interesting.

Hannibal nodded. “I just need to pick up some firewood outside of town. After that, I can take you there.” The story went further if he was asked, which he often was; he was coming home from a late shift at the hospital, intended to pick it up earlier, but he simply couldn’t get away and now he found himself driving home past midnight and stopping to pick up firewood on the way.

This stranger did not ask, and they sat in silence until Hannibal pulled off the road at the spot he had picked out earlier. It was heavily forested and the turn off was placed in such a way that it was shielded from the main road. At this point his passengers would start to get suspicious, but he slipped the needle out and moved so quickly that they would not have time to react. They would scream, typically, but it would cut out in mere moments. It was in the man’s neck, plunger depressed, within seconds.

The man in question did not scream. He brought his hand up to his neck and rubbed at the injection site, blue eyes watching Hannibal. “How long does this usually take to work?”

Hannibal cocked his head. “Within five seconds.”

He paused, thinking. “A paralytic? They’ll be unable to move but able to feel everything you do to them. Clever.”

“You do not seem to be affected,” Hannibal pointed out, quite reasonably. He remained stretched over the arm rests, but pulled his arm back to his side.

The man shrugged. “Looks like we both struck out tonight.”

Hannibal hummed his agreement, more curious than anything else. He blinked, and when his eyes reopened the back seat was empty.

He sat in the turn off for a few minutes before pulling back onto the road and driving home for the night.

\---

The second time, Hannibal was in his Bentley. He had taken to driving through the area on his days off, searching for the strange disappearing man, hoping to find out more about what he had encountered. He spotted him about a month later in the exact same spot, wearing the same clothes, posed the same way.

“Going my way?” Hannibal wore a wry smile, and was pleased to see the spark of recognition in those blue eyes.

The stranger dropped his hand from his side and approached the car, but made no move to get inside. “This is a different car,” he murmured, eyes flicking over the vehicle. “That’s what got me.”

“Personal use,” Hannibal confirmed. “I take it you avoid appearing to the same person multiple times?”

“Not many people pull over.” It was an abrupt change of subject, but Hannibal adjusted quickly. “Yet you’ve done it twice. Why?”

“I found myself wondering what would have happened if I had taken you to your destination.”

The man seemed to consider that, but then he was opening the back door and sliding in like he had previously. “Wolf Trap,” was all he said.

They were on the road again shortly. “Do you have a name?” Hannibal wanted to learn as much as he could before the thing in his back seat vanished again.

“Will.” He brought a hand up and scratched his head, curls bouncing slightly with the movement. Whatever he was, he certainly looked like a regular human. “Do you?”

A nice surprise- the man had seemed disinterested and Hannibal had assumed the conversation would be mostly one-sided. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“Hannibal the Cannibal,” Will mused, and Hannibal very nearly swerved off the road.

“How do you know that?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“I’ve never made it all the way to Wolf Trap.” Another abrupt change, and Hannibal understood he needed to stop treating this like a normal conversation.

“Why not?” Open questions, let him elaborate all on his own.

“If I’m unsure of what I’m doing, poof. The closer we get the less certain I am.”

“You stayed with me,” Hannibal pointed out.

“Because I knew we were never going to make it to Wolf Trap.” In the rear-view mirror, Hannibal saw the man smiling.

Ah. All of a sudden, Hannibal felt that he understood the creature in his back seat. “You were curious what would happen.”

“Somewhat.” Will turned his head to gaze out the window. “My reality is like a narrow tunnel that loops back into itself. Sometimes I just get bored.”

And just like that, the answer presented itself. “Do you remember when you died?”

“Three years ago,” Will replied, not missing a beat. “But I’ve only been on that road for a couple months.”

“What had you done before?” When Hannibal looked into the backseat, it was empty.

Next time, he decided, he would ask fewer questions.

\---

“Shouldn’t you be wearing white?” Hannibal teased.

“I supposed ‘man in plaid’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Will agreed. “Not my fault that this is what I died in.”

They were driving along the same stretch of road, just past midnight. Hannibal had figured out some of the basic requirements to get Will to manifest, and it had only been two weeks since the failed previous attempt. “How did you die?”

“Car accident.” Will scratched at his scalp again, an obvious nervous gesture Hannibal was becoming familiar with. “I shouldn’t have been driving, ran off the road and into a tree. Killed instantly.”

Hannibal was sure that if he looked the accident up, the location would be precisely where he always picked Will up. “Have you gotten any closer?”

“To Wolf Trap?” Hannibal nodded, and Will sighed. It was an oddly humanizing mannerism, particularly for someone that didn’t need to breathe. “No. No one else has picked me up.”

“You are somewhat off-putting,” Hannibal admitted. “Not many people would pick up a man pretending to be injured in the middle of the night.”

“Got any tips?” Will cracked a grin. “I’m new at this.”

“People are more likely to pick up someone who needs a more mundane sort of assistance,” Hannibal suggested. “Car trouble would suit your needs, though I am unsure what you are capable of producing.”

“Car trouble,” Will repeated to himself. “Take this left up here.”

“Would you be willing to tell me where we are going?” It was a risky question, but Hannibal could not contain his curiosity, and his suspicions were confirmed when his back seat became empty once again.

That night, he drew Will, slumped over the wheel of his car, blood pouring from his head.

\---

There was a car next time, headlights on, an impressive plume of smoke emerging from the engine. Will was bent over it, hood propped up, only emerging when Hannibal was close.

“This works much better,” Will greeted, sliding into the back seat.

“Was that the car you crashed?”

“Yeah. Easier to make.” He paused. “I only know the directions.”

“Have you made it all the way yet?” The thought didn’t sit well with Hannibal; he didn’t like the idea that someone other than himself had helped Will finish his journey.

“No,” and Hannibal felt relief. “They always end up asking something I can’t answer.”

“Then we will finish the drive in silence.” They did, the only sounds being the occasional direction from Will.

Will’s destination was a white house, sat in the middle of a large field. It was obviously abandoned and falling apart. Hannibal got out of the car and approached the building, pleased when Will followed. “Did you live here?”

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged.

“You have not disappeared,” Hannibal observed.

“No,” Will murmured,” I haven’t.”

Hannibal considered that. Whatever this place was, it was certainly important. “Shall we go inside?”

The lock on the door was long broken, and then they were inside. The house was furnished but a thick layer of dust coated the interior. Startlingly, a dog ran up to them, a brindled mutt with a furiously wagging tail. “Winston!” Will cried, falling to his knees. The dog was upon him, lavishing him with slobbery kisses.

Hannibal watched with interest. “You know this dog,” he pointed out, mostly because it needed to be.

“He’s mine,” Will replied. “This place is… familiar. I think I did used to live here.” A frown. “There were more.”

“If you’ve truly been dead three years, the dogs have surely all moved on.” Hannibal walked around the bottom floor, taking in his surroundings. An old, broken piano sat in the corner. On a desk there appeared to be supplies for tying fishing flies. There was a large bed sat haphazardly in the center of the room. It was chaotic, and something about it felt like Will.

“Some in a more metaphorical sense,” Will conceded. The dog did not react to anything other than Will’s presence, even when Hannibal crouched beside the pair. He extended a hand out and it passed through the dog with no effort.

His brows creased. “Give me your hand,” he instructed Will. He was shot a confused look, but the man obliged. When Hannibal reached out, the hand he met was solid, even warm. It felt no different than touching a living person. “Curious,” he hummed.

Will stood. Here, he seemed more focused, more human. “Have you ever seen a ghost before me?”

“I have not.” Hannibal looked back down at the dog, who was sitting patiently before Will. “It seems you are the exception.”

Winston turned, and growled. Will’s eyes followed. “Can you see that?” He pointed across the room.

There was a woman standing there, wearing a pure white dress. “Get out of my house,” she hissed, eyes blazing with fury.

“I can hear her as well.” Hannibal stepped forwards, making his way over to the woman. Her eyes never left Will. When he reached her, he reached out, and once again passed through her form. He glanced back at Will, eyebrow raised.

Will turned his attention back to the other ghost. “This is my house,” he countered, and Winston leaned heavily against his legs.

“This is my house, and my dog, and you’ll leave us alone!” Her voice was rising in volume, and Hannibal stepped back to observe. “If you don’t leave, I’ll make you!”

“Uh.” Will cocked his head and scratched his neck, unsure of what to do. “Try, I guess.”

She screeched, and charged at him, fists raised. He braced himself, ready to take whatever blows she landed, but the second her hand touched his face, the air crackled with electricity and she vanished in a flash of light.

Will blinked. Hannibal walked back over, enraptured. “She is gone.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Will muttered.

Hannibal thought back to everything that had happened over their scant few meetings. “Will, tell me again. How did you die?”

“I already told you that I-” Will’s mouth flew shut, and his expression went blank. “I… don’t remember,” he finally replied, after several long moments of silence.

Much later, when Hannibal did drive that road again, he caught a glimpse of a woman in a white dress, standing by the side of the road, waiting for a ride.

\---

Hannibal spent most of his free time researching. The house in Wolf Trap was the only clue he had, and he quickly discovered it had been abandoned for decades, foreclosed and never purchased. There was no information about the final owner, and no one seemed to be willing to produce the deed, so Hannibal fixed the problem the quickest way he could think of, and simply bought the property. Will’s full name was on the old deed, and from there it was easier, albeit time-consuming.

He would visit the house occasionally, mostly to ensure that Will still remained within it’s walls. While he remembered nothing of his life or death, if the topic of conversation remained abstract they could speak for hours, until a seemingly minor detail snagged Will and it all ground to a halt. Hannibal would try to explain recent concepts or inventions to him, but he simply could not comprehend how they functioned, and often compared it to trying to see through a heat mirage. It all seemed hazy and far away to him. Eventually, Hannibal pinpointed the general time period in which he must have died using this information, and then he found it.

After he had read all he could find, Hannibal drove to Wolf Trap, intending to share what he had uncovered. “William Graham,” Hannibal supplied, Will staring at him with rapt attention. “That is your full name. You appear to have been a promising detective, mostly kept to yourself, and there is no death certificate. You were declared missing in 1965 and never seen again.”

“Well,” Will began, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “I think we can agree that I _did_ die at some point. Is there anything else on when I went missing?”

“I found a newspaper article. You were working on a case that may have had ties to organized crime. One day you went home to rest and never came back. Most assumed you found too much and were killed for it. No one continued the case.”

At that, Will frowned. “Really? They just let it die with me? Cowards,” he muttered. “You sure you found the right guy? Will’s a pretty common name.”

“There was a photo.” In it, Will had been dressed in a dated suit, jacket thrown over a chair as he leaned over a series of photos. He had looked tired, and frustrated, but buried deep inside there was a hint of understanding. Hannibal wished fiercely he could have seen what Will had been capable of while he was alive.

“I’m assuming the library won’t let you take a photo?” Another wry smile.

Hannibal had found the article online, scanned by a dedicated archivist who wanted to preserve the town’s history. He knew that Will would not understand if he tried to explain, and so he only nodded.

“Shame,” Will sighed. For someone who had died in the sixties, his clothes were quite modern. Discovering his identity hadn’t seemed to change anything, but Hannibal knew there was more under the surface, waiting to be uncovered. “Hey, Winston! Stay!” he interjected. Winston had been wandering in Hannibal’s direction, and while the main in question did not mind if the dog passed through him, Will found it to be rude and tried to stop the dog from doing so.

Winston did not listen, and stopped just in front of Hannibal, eyes fixed on the taller man. When he reached out, he felt soft fur, and the dog’s tail began to wag. “Interesting. Something is changing, but I am unsure what.”

“That makes two of us,” Will laughed, and crouched down to pet Winston as well.

The next time Hannibal visited the house, it was empty.

\---

At first, he waited for Will to return, stopping by the house weekly to see if he had reappeared. A month passed in this manner before Hannibal accepted that Will would not be returning on his own. If he was gone for good- no, he did not think of that. Will had somehow switched places with another ghost before, and it could have happened again. If he could not come back himself, Hannibal would collect him.

He began looking into traumatic deaths that occurred nearby. The woman from the first time had died three years ago, just like Will had said, and the scant few months he remembered back was likely to be when the switch happened. His initial restriction was no more than five years ago and within one hundred miles. One by one, he visited the locations of all these gruesome deaths, waiting for some sort of sign or Will himself to appear, but nothing happened. He had widened the search area to two hundred miles by the time he finally found it.

The sign he had been waiting for was not what he expected. He was driving north, somewhere in Pennsylvania, when a soft bark drew his attention. A glance towards his passenger’s seat revealed Winston, sitting patiently, tongue lolling out. Hannibal cocked his head, considering something. It was entirely possible that Winston had been with him the entire time, but since he was never near Will, he had been unable to see the dog. This had to be it.

He parked his car in the motel parking lot and requested the room it had happened it. Unsurprisingly, it was vacant, and the clerk pulled a face when she handed him the keys. The room itself was ugly and cheaply decorated but Hannibal did not plan on being here for long. He dropped his keys onto the bedside table and removed his jacket, hanging it carefully in the small closet before heading into the bathroom. Winston followed him in silently. It took a while for the water to heat, but soon he had to bath filling up, turning the tap off once the water had nearly reached the top. He stood, and waited.

Nothing happened. He searched for the information he had discovered regarding the death; she had been about to get into the bath and slipped, slamming her head into the wall and knocking herself out, and happened to fall into the bathtub face down, drowning. A freak accident. She wouldn’t have been clothed, so Hannibal undressed, and lifted a leg to begin entering the tub, and felt a hand on each of his shoulders.

Winston barked, and the pressure vanished. “Winston!” a familiar voice called out, and when Hannibal turned back around, Will was crouched before the dog, scratching at his nape. His clothes had changed, but only into another pattern flannel and a darker shade of jeans.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greeted, making no move to clothe himself.

Will did not seem to care, or even notice. “Hey, Hannibal,” he replied, standing. “It’s been a while.”

“You were somewhat difficult to find,” Hannibal tested, and as he predicted, Will frowned.

“It’s not like I leave,” he shot back, clearly confused.

“How did you die?” Hannibal knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Will’s mouth, in his own words.

“Stupid, really,” the man laughed. “Decided to take a bath but slipped, and-” he pointed to the wall and then his head and made a popping noise. “Went in face down, drowned in a mixture of my own blood, bathwater and soap.”

Hannibal would draw it, much later, after everything had been fixed. “What were you going to do to me?”

“Uh,” and Will actually looked a little sheepish. “I would have noticed it was you, I think, and stopped. But it’s unfair that something so cruel only happened to me, is it not? So it should happen to someone else.”

Another vengeful ghost- it would help Hannibal narrow down his options the next time this happened, and he knew it would. Either way, they should be leaving, or Hannibal might feel this motel room under his skin for the next week. “Is this where you should be?”

“Of course.” The answer was instant, but Will creased his brows. “But it… feels like there might be somewhere better.”

“Then let us go there.” Hannibal held out his hand, and Will hesitated, but he took it.

As Hannibal left, dropping off the keys, the clerk asked if it had been too much, and Hannibal pretended it had been. The drive back was silent, Hannibal unwilling to take the chance that Will would vanish as before if things got too unsteady for him, and eventually they were back in Wolf Trap.

“Oh!” Will exclaimed, face lighting up as he saw his home. “Yeah, this is better.”

Hannibal unlocked the door with his own key this time. As expected, a woman was waiting inside, a cross look on her face. “What are you doing in my house?” she demanded.

“You only need to touch her,” Hannibal explained, and Will nodded. He stepped forward and grabbed the woman’s wrist, electricity crackled, a light flashed, and she was gone.

A clarity returned to Will’s eyes, and he glanced around his dilapidated home. “Home sweet home,” he muttered, scratching at his scalp.

“Would you be opposed to me making some renovations?” Hannibal had done some minor things already, such as fixing the locks and cleaning the entire building, but he would like to restore Will’s home to its former glory, if possible.

“Reno- Hannibal, did you buy my house?” Will peered at Hannibal, only curiosity in his gaze. “Why?”

“It was the easiest way to get the deed, and you did not answer my question.”

Will shrugged. “It’s not like I’m using any of it. Go crazy.”

“You are not worried modifications would weaken your tether to reality?” Hannibal looked around the house with an appraising gaze; while it was clearly not the only thing important to keeping Will in this world, it was still the strongest tie he had, and he himself was unsure what changes could do.

“I’m not only attached to this house.” Will gestured over to Winston, who was laying near the door, always watching them. “He came with you, remember? He’s anchored to me, and by extension what I’m anchored to.”

“And so his presence by my side indicates that you are haunting me,” Hannibal finished the thought.

“That’s kind of a rude way to phrase it, but yeah, I guess I am.” Will almost smiled, but he pulled the expression back at the last minute. “There are multiple things that tie me here, to the… world of the living, I guess. I don’t know what losing one would do, but if another exists, I should remain here.”

The conversation continued, but none of it mattered. When he returned to his home, Hannibal looked at the blueprints for Will’s house, planning a full remodel and something greater.

\---

The following week, Hannibal was at Wolf Trap, taking measurements of the kitchen. A wall would have to be knocked down to accommodate his culinary needs, but he had wanted to expand the second floor as well, so it was not much of an issue. Will was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table and watching with interest. “I never cooked much,” Will admitted.

“Do you remember that yourself or have you deduced that from the size and state of your kitchen?” Hannibal jotted down the dimensions of the room and started on the cabinets, pretending he was checking to see if any could be reused. He already had a completed picture in his head but it couldn’t hurt to gather more information.

“Deduction.” Will cracked a small smile. “I was a detective, after all.”

“Has anything new come back to you?” The change was minor, but Will seemed more lively than before, responded more readily, more sharply. Whatever impact the swapping had, it seemed to be positive, at least in the short-term.

“I loved being outside. I’m drawn to water, though I don’t know why.”

“You may have enjoyed fishing,” Hannibal suggested, and Will pondered that.

“That’s reasonable. There’s a stream nearby, could have been why I bought this place. How are you attaching that paper in your notebook?”

Hannibal looked down at a post-it he had jotted down some information on and stuck in the journal previously. 1977 was the first year they had been sold, over a decade after Will’s death, but things had already changed, and Hannibal was honest when he described the item to the ghost sitting on other side of the kitchen.

“That’s pretty handy,” Will commented, quite normally. “Probably could have used that in my lifetime.”

The item was low-tech and it must have made it easier for him to grasp, but it was still something he had never been able to achieve. Will himself did not seem to notice anything was different or unusual, so Hannibal changed the subject and filed that information away for later. “I have a theory on why you are switching places with other ghosts.”

“Oh?” Will leaned forwards, listening intently. “I’m all ears.”

“I believe you may have had some form of an empathy disorder while alive, and it has carried over into your afterlife and is causing you to be drawn to other spirits.”

Will hummed thoughtfully. “Like I had trouble relating to other people?”

“The opposite.” Hannibal wrote more measurements down and moved onto the rusting refrigerator. “It would have made you an excellent detective.”

“It seems like a pretty wild shot to take, unless you have more reason to believe that.” Hannibal paused in his ministrations, turning to face Will. “You do, don’t you?”

“The second time we met, you mentioned something about me no one could possibly have known. When you look at me, what do you see?”

At that, Will grinned wolfishly. “Everything.”

“Were you just going to let me pretend to measure everything until I left, then?” Hannibal teased.

“I wanted to see how long you would keep doing it.” Will laughed, and Hannibal could not help the small smile it drew out of him. “I, uh, it’s only like that with you, though.”

“You cannot see inside of anyone else?” For a brief moment, Hannibal felt his pulse stutter, though he did not know why.

“I can figure out pretty basic stuff, just based on how they speak and their expressions, but no. It’s like I can read your thoughts, almost. Not literally!” he added, seeing the small change in Hannibal’s expression. “I know you better than I know myself.”

“You do not seem to be bothered by that,” Hannibal points out.

“I’m dead,” Will shot back. “Who cares about things like morality at this point?”

A shiver went down Hannibal’s spine, though he did not show it. “I would like the have the workers come in next week, if that is alright with you.”

“I’ll be home all day,” Will joked, and Hannibal hoped it would be true.

\---

Will continued to swap, and Hannibal continued to find him. It happened more frequently when the house was being worked on, almost as if the noise was driving him out, encouraging him to wander. He would find ghosts further and further away, ones that had died many years ago, and it would have been difficult for Hannibal to locate him if he had not started to feel a pull towards wherever Will had traveled. Every time, he asked Will how he died, and he would draw these scenes many times over. A new wing was added to his memory palace, every room opening into the scene itself, and he would spend many hours traveling through and taking in the sights.

The horns, however, were a surprise. They had started as small bumps, almost invisible beneath the wild curls, but soon enough they stood out sharply, growing every time he returned. When Hannibal found him in another ghost’s place, they were not visible, but once he returned home they materialized. Will himself did not seem to realize they were there, and Hannibal did not tell him, only monitored their progress.

Hannibal renovated the house with only a vague sense of purpose, intent on removing one of Will’s anchors just to see how it would affect the man. That purpose sharpened when he found Will in a river south of the border, tears rolling down his face, holding a hand out to Hannibal. “I drowned my children in this river,” he had said, no sorrow in his eyes. “Come, and let me drown you too.” Hannibal had dreamt of Will holding him underwater, calm determination on his face, grip impossibly strong, and he had woken up gasping for air.

The next day, he quit his job as a surgeon, and a week later he had moved into the house in Wolf Trap permanently.

They coexisted peacefully. Will liked to watch Hannibal cook, and Hannibal loved to put on a show for him. He would buy Will books, and once he could grasp the concept, he bought him a laptop and let him explore the internet and learn about what had happened in the world after he had died. While inside the house, Will seemed to have no difficulty interacting with objects within, though Hannibal was somewhat relieved when he showed no interest in interacting with anyone online. It was almost as if his world was Hannibal, and Hannibal alone.

The thought excited Hannibal, and the fact that Will knew that it did and did not change his behavior only excited him further.

It was much easier to find Will now that he had so much free time, and the horns grew rapidly. They began branching out, clearly identifiable as the horns of a stag, and Hannibal spent many sleepless nights thinking about what would happen when they had finished growing.

Not everything went so smoothly, though, and eventually something happened that Hannibal had not anticipated. He was driving to Will, the pull telling him he was close, and Winston lay in the backseat, waiting. It was a short trip and that alone unsettled Hannibal, but it was not until he pulled into a parking lot he recognized that everything slotted into place.

It was night, and the lot was empty. He strode towards the center, bringing nothing with him, as his presence would be enough more than enough to manifest Will this time around. A tree sprouted up from the concrete, cherry blossoms hanging from it’s branches, and among them sat Will.

“Hey,” he greeted, waving down at Hannibal. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and black pants, hair slicked back a bit more presentably than before. “Nice of you to visit so soon.”

Will had only been missing for hours- Hannibal had left to buy ingredients for dinner, and returned to an empty house. “How did you die?”

“I don’t remember much,” Will sighed, patting one of the branches. “I remember being cut open and becoming a part of this tree, it’s roots running through my veins. It’s why I can’t leave it.”

“Anything else?” It would come to him, Hannibal knew it would.

He saw the exact moment Will made the connection. His eyes widened, shock and fear rushing forward as he scrambled backwards, further into the branches of the tree. “It was you,” he whispered. “You killed me.”

Hannibal considered that. It was easy to imagine Will beneath him, blood flowing out his wounds, fighting to the very end. He would not have gone easily, that much Hannibal was sure of.

He wondered what he would have tasted like, and mourned the fact that he would never know.

“Come back with me,” he beckoned, as usual. “There is somewhere else that you should be.”

“No.” The branches of the tree curled upwards, shielding Will from view. “You killed me. I can’t trust you.”

“With all due respect, what am I going to do to you now that you have already died? I cannot kill you again.”

“ _No,_ ” Will repeated, with more force behind it.

Hannibal sighed. Seeing such obvious fear on Will’s face should have been exhilarating, but he found that he was mostly just annoyed. He glanced back at the car and whistled the same way he had heard Will whistle many times before. Winston trotted over and sat at Hannibal’s feet. “Winston is here,” Hannibal soothed. “He trusts me. You have nothing to fear from me, Will.”

The branches lowered again, and Will’s head appeared. “Winston?” The dog barked in response. “Is that really you?”

“You may examine him, if you wish.”

A frown. “I told you I can’t leave this tree.”

“Try.” Hannibal stepped back, giving the pair some space.

Gingerly, Will climbed down the trunk of the tree, walking along the roots until they ended. He was hesitant to step off them and onto the concrete, but Winston barked again, and he took a shaky step off. When nothing stopped him, he continued on, reaching out and laying his hand on the dog’s soft fur. “It’s really you,” he exhaled, reassured.

“Would you like to go home now?” Hannibal asked. Will nodded, and they departed.

On the drive back to Wolf Trap, the silence was only broken by a single question. “Why did you do it?” Will was quiet, and Hannibal almost missed the question.

“I thought it would reassure you. Winston is-”

“Not that,” Will interjected. “Why did you kill me?”

Hannibal chose his words carefully. “I only kill someone because it is what they deserve,” he finally replied.

No more words were spoken for the rest of the drive.

\---

For a while, Will was jumpy around Hannibal, the residual fear from taking Isley’s place bleeding through on occasion. It lessened as time went on and eventually Will had regained his confidence. Soon after he had returned to himself, they sat in a room that had been converted into a study, Hannibal sipping a glass of wine by the fire.

“Do you remember anything?” Hannibal asked, setting the glass aside. “About your death.”

Will thought for a moment. “I remember… a forest. I was chasing something, or being chased. I’m not sure which.”

“A human or an animal?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what came next?” Hannibal leaned forward, listening.

“I see... nothing.” Will looked at the ground, grimacing. “It all blurs. All there is are flashes of color. Blues, reds, and browns. Darker shades, I think it was night.” He turned away, looking out the window now, antlers silhouetted in the moonlight. “It’s more than before.”

Hannibal hummed his acknowledgement, and they sat until the fire burned itself out.

\---

A year into this strange new existence, something significant changed.

Will had vanished again, and Hannibal was driving through Minnesota, the strange pull guiding him. Once he was close, Winston appeared in the back seat, but beside him in the passenger’s side sat a young girl, long brown hair falling down her shoulders.

“Hello,” Hannibal greeted politely.

“Hey,” she answered, staring straight ahead. “Where are we going?”

“To pick up Will.”

“Who’s that?” She looked over now, eyes blue and wide, and her hair fell away from her neck, exposing a deep gash.

“A friend of mine who has been living with me.” It was the truth, even if it didn’t quite begin to explain it.

“How is that possible?” The girl frowned. “I’ve been living with you and Winston for the past year.”

Hannibal did not take his eyes off the road, but he smiled, a hint of a crooked tooth peeking out between his lips.

“My father was a serial killer,” Will told them later, as they stood before him in a bloody cabin in the woods. He was wearing a khaki button up and dark pants. “I helped him lure in his victims but couldn’t do it anymore. I told him I was going to tell the cops and he slit my throat.”

“He’s mine,” the girl replied, clinging to Hannibal’s arms. “You can’t have him.”

“Come, Will,” Hannibal coaxed, holding out a hand, and grabbed Will’s wrist when he reached for him, bringing his hand down to touch the girl that held him. Electricity crackled, a light flashed, and they switched.

Will stood beside Hannibal now, antlers branching up towards the sky, still small but magnificent nonetheless. “I’m not home,” he commented, glancing at Hannibal, perplexed.

_Oh, but you are,_ Hannibal wanted to say. “It seems your anchor to me has become stronger than your anchor to your home,” was what he said instead.

“Well,” Will mused, looking up at the sky. “You’ve always liked traveling, haven’t you?”

He had, and so they did.

\---

Hannibal was in Russia, a place he did not greatly enjoy, and so his mood was soured and did not lift even when Winston materialized beside him. He had taken Will to Lithuania, his homeland, but three days into the trip he had woken alone and felt the eastward pull. Now, a woman was with him, hair long and red, voice musical and alluring. “I don’t want to go,” she told him, and on some level she seemed to understand. “I don’t like the river.”

“We must,” Hannibal said, words clipped with irritation. They were in a deserted area, mostly ruins, making their way to a small stream. It had not been a river for quite some time, but to the spirit, nothing had changed. “I would like to resume our trip as soon as possible.”

“Then let’s go now!” Her voice pitched up, eyes widening at the sight of the water. “Back to Lithuania. Show me where you were born.”

“Not with you,” Hannibal growled, and she fell silent, trembling.

Will stood in the stream, facing away. He wore a white shirt that pulled tightly across his shoulders, somewhat transparent where it had gotten wet, and close-fitting pants. For a moment, Hannibal hesitated, somewhat unsteady because of the man’s appearance, but he called out in time. When he turned, his hair was wild, falling in unruly curls around his face, and he was clean-shaven, appearing startlingly youthful. “Hello,” he greeted, and his voice was rich and even. “It’s nice to see you, Hannibal.”

“How did you die?” Hannibal’s voice stuck in his throat, and the words came out quietly, but were heard regardless.

“My husband was a cruel man,” Will began, unconsciously tilting his head to bare his throat. “He cheated, and beat me. I could not take it any longer and drowned myself in this river.” He smiled, now, as if he was hiding something. “I drowned us both.”

“Don’t send me back,” the woman sobbed, clinging to Hannibal. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Hannibal, come here,” Will purred, voice pitching lower. “I have something wonderful to show you.”

It was too much, too strange, too tempting. “No, Will,” Hannibal barked, and Will blinked and seemed to shake himself out of it. “Come to me.”

Will came forward and touched the woman’s face, apology in his eyes, and with a crackling light, they returned.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Will observed, amusement in his eyes.

“I am not fond of Russia.” While that was true, it was not the source of his emotions, and if Will saw through him he said nothing.

“Sure,” he said instead, rolling his shoulders back, and his antlers vibrated with the motion. “I believe you had more to show me, at your home?”

They resumed their journey through Hannibal’s past, though he did not fully relax until Will swapped again, and his appearance changed.

\---

They were in Italy, in a villa Hannibal had owned for many years. Will was lounging on the bed, laptop on his lap, peering intently at the screen. His antlers were a respectable size, large enough to get in the way, but they did not seem to interact with things the same way Will did. While Hannibal had never seen them pass through anything, he had also never seen Will duck when he walked through a doorway or tilt his head to fit them through a tight opening. No matter how many times he watched, trying to figure out their properties, he would somehow always miss the important moment, and he knew that this was not by accident.

He finished his drawing and set the pencil aside. Will had not moved in hours other than his fingers on the keyboard, and Hannibal could hide his curiosity no longer. “What are you exploring?”

Will’s eyes twitched up, locking with Hannibal’s. He straightened his back and stretched his arms above his head. “Trying to figure out what they did.”

Hannibal blinked. “Who?”

A smile crept across Will’s face. “All of them.” He turned the laptop towards Hannibal, preferring to let him figure it out on his own than tell him directly.

He had been like this for a while now. For a time he had been sharp, focused, and spoke like a normal human, but as the antlers grew, he lapsed back into abrupt changes and vague statements. The difference was that now he was doing it intentionally. He seemed to enjoy frustrating Hannibal, pushing his buttons, and every time he succeeded it only drove him to continue. Like this, as himself, he held a power over Hannibal, was elevated above him, and Hannibal would have killed him for the sheer audacity of it if he could.

As it was, he could not, so he aimed to force the swaps, which were the only times he fully regained his control over the capricious spirit.

Now, however, he allowed this imbalance and took the laptop. He breathed in sharply, momentarily stunned by the information he had been presented. Will had simply opened hundreds of browser tabs, and a tiny part of Hannibal’s brain itched with the desire to bookmark the pages and close them all, but he sorted through them one by one instead. Laid before him, in chronological order, was every single one of his kills. The ones as the Chesapeake Ripper, the ones as Il Monstro di Firenze, the ones that had never been found, the ones he shouldn’t have even been able to find information on. Multiple tabs would contain information on a single kill, and Hannibal knew, instinctively, that he was looking at the entirety of the information related to anyone he had ever killed, at least what was online.

“This is not possible,” Hannibal whispered, awed. “It cannot be.”

“I told you I could see everything,” was all Will offered in the way of explanation. “But there should be more.”

Hannibal passed the laptop back, regaining a measure of his composure. “There is bound to be more information only printed, never digitized. As you know, I have been busy for a great many years.”

“No,” and Will’s eyes were blazing. “This is interesting, but I’ve read it all. There needs to be more.”

“I will not kill simply because you are bored,” Hannibal growled, bristling at the prospect of being ordered to attack like a trained dog.

“I suppose not,” Will conceded, but his smile remained. “You will kill because, for the first time, someone else desires it as strongly as you do.”

To this, Hannibal could say nothing, because the breath had been stolen out of his lungs. Weeks later, Il Monstro returned, and Florence was dyed red once more.

\---

They remained in Italy. Hannibal had always loved the country, and Will seemed content to let Hannibal extend his bloody legacy across it’s cities. Rome had been next, followed by Milan and Naples. Now, they were in Venice, tucked away in a narrow alley, the only sound the rushing water of the canals, the only light the moon and many stars dotting the night sky. “What did he do to offend you?” Hannibal asked, cutting neatly into the flesh beneath him.

Will leaned against the wall at the alley entrance, both keeping watch and simply watching. “He beats his wife.”

Hannibal frowned at this. He had been letting Will choose his targets for a while now, but had yet to fully come to terms with Will’s decidedly more vigilante approach. The organs he desired were easy to separate out and he set them on a clean tarp beside the body, away from the blood running through the cracks in the stones. “How shall we display him? I could pull the skin away from his back, outwards like the wings of the Erotes.”

“Make a mockery of love the same way he had,” Will added, tilting his head to the side. His antlers shone in the moonlight, a deep, rich mahogany. “Shatter the bones in his hands. Grind them to powder.”

“As you wish.” What Will asked, Hannibal would carry out, and he was finding himself less and less opposed to the idea of being his weapon. The spirit was becoming further removed from humanity, elevating to a level above it, and Hannibal thought himself blessed to witness it. He glanced up, wanting to drink in that hungry look in the other man’s eyes, but he instead was met with the man’s back. “Is somebody near?”

Will did not respond, so Hannibal repeated the question. “It’s pulling me,” he eventually answered. “I need to go to it.” With that, he walked out the alley, leaving Hannibal alone with a half-mutilated corpse and a rapidly fading dog.

For several long moments, Hannibal simply remained crouched over the body, mind still processing what had just happened. A swap, obviously, but now? Something hot, an overpowering emotion, ripped through Hannibal, and he scowled.

He dumped the body in the canals and left Venice.

It wasn’t long before he found Will, still in Italy, in the middle of an orange orchard, beneath the shade of the trees. “You look upset,” were the first words out of Will’s mouth. He was wearing a thick blue coat and his hair was neatly combed back.

“How did you die?” Hannibal ground out, between clenched teeth.

“I opened this orchard with a friend,” Will began. “We were business partners right up until he decided he didn’t want to share it anymore and beat my head in with a crate of oranges. Blood oranges, ironically.”

It was so normal, even if the murder weapon was unusual. So pedestrian, so uninspired, so _crude._ “Am I boring you, Will?”

Will looked taken aback. As extraordinary as he was while himself, while he took the place of others, he was surprisingly human. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because,” Hannibal spat, advancing on Will. “I was in the middle of sharing something with you, something I believe you _asked_ of me, and your mind wandered to the point where your body followed.” He grabbed the man’s throat, and a ways away, back by the car, Winston barked. “I would advise you not to play games with me, Will.”

“How could I have left you?” Will choked out, and Hannibal lifted him inches off the ground. “I’ve always been here, with the trees.”

“ _You have not,_ ” Hannibal hissed. He easily carried Will back to his car like this, where a large man with smudged glasses stood, waiting where Hannibal had told him to. Distantly, he registered the fact that Will seemed to weigh almost nothing, but he ignored the information in favor of throwing Will bodily into the other ghost.

A crackling and flash of light, and Will was slumped against the car, antlers tall and imposing, fury in his eyes. He shot forward, grabbing Hannibal’s arm and spinning him around, grip like iron. The taller man was pressed against the car in moments, arm twisted painfully behind his back. “You don’t know what you’re playing with,” Will hissed into Hannibal’s ear. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you can punish me.”

Against the car, Hannibal’s breath came quickly, heart beating in his chest. He tried to break out of Will’s grip but the strength was impossible to overcome, and Will twisted his arm further as retaliation. It hurt, but Hannibal relished the pain, as it was something Will had given him. “I understand,” he said shakily, and Will released him.

Not long after, they left Italy, but not before Hannibal presented Will with a man twisted into the shape of a heart. A fitting offering for his wicked, fickle god.

\---

“What do you remember, Will?”

Will had been quiet, often staring out at nothing for long moments, only responding when Hannibal prompted him to speak. “Water,” he replied. “Water and something mixing.”

“Water is important to you,” Hannibal tested, trying to pry more information out of his silent companion. “I often find you near bodies of it, and you seem to enjoy being by it.”

Will turned towards him, finally, antlers reaching up and shining in the firelight. “I like the fire,” he offered, explaining nothing.

“We could sail,” Hannibal suggested. “I could buy a boat and we could cross the oceans.”

“What would you do if I left, out there, surrounded by endless water?” Will referencing the swaps directly was rare, but he seemed to be aware that they occurred nonetheless. “You could not reach me at the bottom of the sea.”

“Then I will draw you to the surface.”

“And if you cannot?”

Hannibal paused, considering that. He was confident Will would never go where he could not reach him, but… “I’ve always wanted to get SCUBA certified,” he teased, a smile forming across his lips.

Caught off guard, a laugh burst out of Will. “It’s never that simple,” but he was also smiling. “Let’s go.”

They chose the boat together, and Will remained firmly on it the entire journey.

\---

It was not much longer until the antlers were grown. Will had not looked any different other than the larger horns, but when he swapped for the final time there was a silent power exuding from him, and he looked at Hannibal with eyes that were a startling shade of blue. “Wolf Trap,” was all he said, sliding into the front seat of his car, and they returned home.

Hannibal made to enter the house but Will caught his wrist and pulled him away, across the fields and into the forest, leaving Winston by the car. “I remember, now,” he spoke, voice echoing through the trees. Everything was deathly silent, and the moon sat high in the sky, bathing them in an eerie light. “I was chasing something, at first, until I found it. A creature, gaunt, with bloody antlers and wicked claws. I ran, and it followed me to this river.” They emerged from the tree line, and a large river flowed before them, water calm. “It attacked me, and I attacked it, and we both were slain. Our blood mixed and flowed into this river, and the water carried away our bodies.” Will left Hannibal on the bank and waded out into the river, turning back to face him at around the midway point. He held out his hand. “Come, Hannibal.”

Breathless, Hannibal followed. The water was icy cold and soaked into his pants, only spreading the chill. “Is this where you belong?”

“When something dies,” Will continued, ignoring Hannibal’s question, “energy is released. That is then recycled back into the world when something is created. When did I disappear, Hannibal?”

“1965.”

“Good. And what year were you born?”

Hannibal did not reply, watching Will without moving, for that was a question he had already answered.

“We are connected, you and I. That is why you can see them when I am near, and why I could not see these while you could.” He reached up, touching fingertips to the prongs of the antlers crowning him. “Do you like them? This is what you wanted, is it not?”

The answer came out of Hannibal in a rush. “They are beautiful,” he whispered, awestruck.

“I suppose,” Will hummed. He brought up his other hand and wrapped them around each antler. “They are not mine, though. You forced them into existence, and so they rightfully belong to you.” Swiftly, he pulled his hands to the sides, and the antlers slid out of his head, detaching completely.

Hannibal barely had enough time to register the sharp spikes jutting from the base of the antlers before Will leaned forward and stabbed them into his own skull. Instantly, he collapsed onto his knees, pain radiating throughout his body. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and he could feel the antlers reshaping themselves, facing forwards and molding to his body. “Yes, that looks better,” Will mused, fisting a hand in Hannibal’s sandy hair and jerking his head up. “This is where you belong.”

“Will,” Hannibal gasped, world shimmering around him. In the water, he caught a glimpse of his reflection, flickering between himself and a pitch black figure crowned with sharp, branching antlers. He reached out and grasped the fabric of Will’s shirt, clutching tightly.

“I would have grown my own, eventually.” Will crouched now and let go of the other man’s hair, keeping his head up with a finger under his chin instead. “But you just couldn’t bear the thought of waiting. Don’t worry, something will take their place. Can’t have your aesthetic ruined, after all.” He smiled now, cruelly. “Don’t fight it; I’ve given you a gift. What do you say, Hannibal?”

“T-thank you,” he gasped, eyes wide, mouth hanging open as he gulped in great lungfuls of air. If this was what dying felt like, he found he did not really mind.

“You’re not dying.” Will narrowed his eyes. “You’re changing. You’ll accept anything I give you, will you not?”

Hannibal slumped forwards further, closing the distance between himself and the man above him, mind fading. “Always.”

“Then accept this as well,” and the last thing Hannibal felt before it all slipped away was the press of lips against his own.

\---

Hannibal woke in their home in Wolf Trap, body aching. He was dressed for bed, and when he stumbled into the bathroom to examine himself, found nothing out of place save for the hair falling haphazardly across his forehead. Carefully, taking his time, he picked his way down the stairs, making his way to the sitting room to see Will sitting with a book by the fire, Winston at his feet. The other man was wearing a red flannel, frayed jeans, and a pair of glasses, and raised a hand in greeting.

He looked ordinary, and Hannibal wondered if any of it had been real.

“Of course it was,” Will scoffed, setting the book to the side. “Did you really think that this had all been some fever dream you can escape from? You need to be prepared to handle the consequences of whatever you begin.”

“I…” For the first time in his life, Hannibal found that words would not come to him, and so he gestured towards his head instead.

“Oh, right,” and Will rolled his eyes. “You seem to have retained your normal appearance, at least while separated. I should have known better than to change you into something ugly, honestly. I can only blame myself.”

“Separated?” Hannibal repeated back, still trying to grasp at what was happening.

“From the water,” Will explained, unhelpfully. “I don’t think it has to be the river where we were born, but it would be stronger there. I’m still getting used to this myself, so cut me some slack.” He grinned, crooked, and Hannibal collapsed into an armchair.

“You seem…” Hannibal searched for the right word for a while, finding nothing satisfactory, and eventually settled on “...normal.”

“More human?” Hannibal nodded, and Will hummed thoughtfully. “I guess the two halves of me have finally joined,” he murmured, frowning slightly. “Both aspects of me you’ve seen were true, only split.”

Hannibal thought on that. While he had enjoyed both the overwhelming dominance of Will while horned and his meek submission when taking the place of another, the truth being somewhere in the middle just felt _right._

“Oh, you like that,” and Will was grinning broadly. “Couldn’t decide which version you liked more so now you get to have your cake and eat it too. I still can’t actually read your mind, before you ask, because I know you will.” Will waved a hand dismissively. “But everything you feel, I can feel too. We’re well and truly connected, now.”

In response, Hannibal fisted a hand in his hair, gripping near the roots, and pulled hard. The pain was sharp, and Will’s response was immediate. “Ow, fuck, are you serious?” Will’s hand flew up to his scalp, the same spot Hannibal was pulling on his own, and Hannibal released the strands. “I tell you we share emotions and sensation and your immediate reaction is to hurt yourself? Sadist,” he muttered, but it was fond. “It’s worse for you, by the way. I wouldn’t test the limits of that one if I were you.”

“Why?” Hannibal asked, the question coming forward clearly.

“I just said I don’t know,” Will huffed. “Whatever we are, it’s no longer human, or spirit. We’ve changed each other.”

“No,” Hannibal countered, sitting up straighter, feeling more like himself. “Why did you do it?”

Will looked at Hannibal, head tilted slightly, eyes shining. “Because it was what you desired from me.”

Hannibal opened his mouth, intending to ask for clarification, but snapped it shut as he realized that one sentence answered everything. “What do we do from this point?” was what he asked instead, eventually.

Will, predictably, shrugged. “Not sure. If we went into town, we’d both be visible, so we could live as human for a while if that’s what you want.”

The other man seemed to be waiting for Hannibal to say something, and so he looked deeper. “That is not our purpose,” he found, buried deep beneath.

“No,” Will agreed. “Doesn’t meant we can’t have some fun, though. We’ll know when we are needed.”

“At the river?”

“Rivers,” Will clarified. “Winston will bring them to us.” The dog raised his head, peering at Will, and barked once. “Go on, boy,” Will urged, and Winston rose, trotting out of the house and into the wilderness.

“Are they sacrifices?” If they were, Hannibal would rend them asunder, and offer them zealously.

“That depends on what they want,” and now, when Will smiled, the sharp points of his teeth were revealed, and Hannibal shivered.

\---

Many years passed, and the world changed greatly but a legend of the woods lived on. If you are lost, a dog may find you and guide you to a river, where you will be greeted by a horned man with eyes of crystal blue. Ask him any question, and he will give you a truthful answer.

If you seek him out out of turn or he simply does not like whatever you wish to ask, you will instead meet darkness in the shape of a man, and they will never find the pieces of your body.

**Author's Note:**

> Will's post-transformation form draws inspiration from many horned deities but primarily Native American horned serpents, with the Muscogee myths being by far the most prominent. Hannibal's draws inspiration from nothing and is literally just the wendigo from the show because I'm a hack
> 
> I started this with an almost solid idea in mind and it jackknifed pretty early on and probably quadrupled in length. That's what I get for not letting an idea cook for long enough I guess I sure showed me


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